1. FRIEND.
These are strange Questions.
IAILOR.
I doe not thinke she was very well, for now
You make me minde her, but this very day
I ask’d her questions, and she answered me
So farre from what she was, so childishly,
So sillily, as if she were a foole,
An Inocent, and I was very angry.
But what of her, Sir?
WOOER.
Nothing but my pitty;
But you must know it, and as good by me
As by an other that lesse loves her—
IAILOR.
Well, Sir.
1. FRIEND.
Not right?
2. FRIEND.
Not well?
WOOER.
No, Sir, not well.
Tis too true, she is mad.
1. FRIEND.
It cannot be.
WOOER.
Beleeve, you’l finde it so.
IAILOR.
I halfe suspected
What you (have) told me: the gods comfort her:
Either this was her love to Palamon,
Or feare of my miscarrying on his scape,
Or both.